


Everywhere

by 13starbuck42



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Hollywood Walk of Fame, MSR, Post-Episode: s07e19 Hollywood A.D.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:17:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13starbuck42/pseuds/13starbuck42
Summary: Because David and Gillian have stars on the Walk of Fame and it's adorable.





	Everywhere

“Fox Theatre, please,” Mulder tells the chauffeur.  “What?  Mulder!”  Scully reaches across the seat and smacks his arm with the back of her hand.  “Did you not hear me?  Skinner gave us a Bureau credit card!  The production company gave us this limo.  We should be wining and dining, enjoying a night out on the town!”  

“Really, Scully?”  The classy black stretch pulls into late-night traffic, headed toward Hollywood Boulevard, and he looks at her across the expanse of matte black leather.  “Do you really want to wade through the crowds, hoping to get a table at some small, overcrowded, overpriced restaurant?” Scully pouts and crosses her arms in front of her chest, a defiant _hmmppff_ accentuating her disdain.  She looks away, staring out the window, brow furrowed, as the city lights pass by.

The limousine slows and pulls to a stop at the curb. Mulder gets out, not waiting for the driver to open their door. “Mulder, what are we doing here?” Scully grumbles, not budging.  “If you won’t let me wine and dine, at least let me go back to the hotel.  I can take a bubble bath.”  She sighs, “God, that bathtub...”  But Mulder grabs her hand to pull her across the seat and out of the car, and she lets him.

Safely on the sidewalk, Scully turns a circle, taking in her surroundings.  “So…”  She’s still not sure of his motive, his reason for bringing her here.   

“The dead are everywhere, Scully.”  

She sighs again and tries not to roll her eyes. “Mulder, we’ve been through this.  I don’t believe in ghosts.”  Mulder shakes his head with fervor, leaning in, “That’s not what I mean, Scully.”  He throws his hands out to the side, towering over her.  “I mean they’re everywhere, all around us.  Not just ghosts in graveyards, or out haunting old mansions and churches.  Everywhere.  Take this man, for example.”  He points to the star embedded in the concrete at his feet.  “Alfred Hitchcock.  He directed something like 60 films in his lifetime.  _Vertigo_ ,  _North by Northwest_ ,  _Psycho_ , T _he Birds_.  His ashes are scattered in the Pacific.  He has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, right where we’re standing, Scully.  Don’t you see?  He’s everywhere.  And he’s not alone.  There are millions of others.”  He’s got her by the shoulders now, emphasizing each point; she can feel his fingers digging into the flesh of her arms through her jacket.

“Not everyone has film credits, Mulder, or ashes scattered in the ocean.  We can’t all be immortalized with a star on Hollywood Boulevard.”  Her lips press together in a tender half-smile and she raises her eyebrows knowingly.

His voice is low, eyes locked with hers.  “We’re all a piece of the puzzle, Scully, a thread in the fabric.  We’ve all made our mark, impressed ourselves on someone or something here in our lifetime, and that changes _everything_ for _everyone_ that comes after us.  Even when we’re gone, the remnants of what we did, said, felt, created… that all stays, somehow.  It’s everywhere.  They are everywhere.  The dead are everywhere...” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders, loosening his grip on her arms but not turning away.

Scully stays quiet, looking up at him.  She moves closer, and her hands grasp his biceps, squeezing gently.  She traces her fingertips up over his shoulders, and Mulder’s arms move to circle her waist, fingers splaying over the small of her back.  A smile spreads slowly across her mouth, and he notices that her eyes are shining.  “That’s actually quite beautiful, Mulder.  Thank you.”  Scully draws her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck and pushes up onto her tiptoes, landing a soft kiss on his cheek. She stays there just a moment too long before setting herself down and wrapping her arms under his, palms open across the broad expanse of his back. They stand together, on and under the stars, holding each other for a minute, a month, twenty-five years.     

“What’s next, Scully?”  Mulder finally pulls back and looks around.  “That Bureau credit card must be burning a hole in your pocket.”  His eyes light up and he turns away from her, pointing across the street at a shop, neon lights flashing in the window.  He tilts his head and grins.  “Tattoo?”  She laughs, “Been there, done that.  Never again.”  Scully tugs at the hem of his shirt. “C’mon Mulder. Let’s go back to the hotel. We can order too much room service and put it on the Bureau credit card.” “What about your bubble bath?” he asks, turning back to reach for her hand. “That too,” she answers, purposely not meeting his eye, the hint of a smile playing at her lips.

They drift quietly along the sidewalk toward the shiny black car awaiting them, silently reading the names fixed in history under their feet.  Their fingers twist together, arms swinging gently between them, content.  She nudges him with her shoulder.  “Do you want a star on Hollywood Boulevard someday, Mulder?”

“Only if it’s next to yours.”   


End file.
